


Servatis a Maleficum

by EveryDarkCorner



Series: SladeRobin Week 2018 [6]
Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Anal Sex, Biting, Bondage, Demonic Slade, M/M, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Scratching, Virgin Sacrifice, satanic cult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDarkCorner/pseuds/EveryDarkCorner
Summary: Dick is kidnapped by a cult and gifted to their demonic god, Slade.





	Servatis a Maleficum

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SladeRobin Week 2018 Day 6. I decided to combine both prompts for this one - 'Virgin Sacrifice' and 'Bondage'. (Also I blame the Venom fandom on Tumblr for giving me ideas about tonguessss.) Enjoy!

Dick could barely breathe around the gag.

               The bundled cloth grew damp in his mouth, muffling his shouts of rage, bound in place by a black strip wound round the back of his head.  A black-robed man stepped close, cradling a bowl in one arm.  Dick kicked up, meaning to knock the bowl clean out of his arms.  But the robed man side-stepped easily, not even breaking his low chanting.  As Dick’s leg fell back down, two more black robes swept in, crouching and pinning his ankles.

               His toes barely brushed the floor.  His arms and shoulders ached from dangling.  The rock they’d bound him to was rough at his back, grazing the bare skin.  They took his shirt and shoes—god, he didn’t even know when.  Sometime between the moment he stood up in the bar, and the room swayed, and he realised there was something more than root beer in his drink, and him waking up here, hanging from his wrists.  It must’ve been hours.  He didn’t remember the sun setting, but it was night, the moon a blazing sliver of white against the dark sky.

               The robed man kept chanting, dipping two fingers into his bowl.  Dick wished he could see the robed man’s face—see _any_ of their faces.  The black robes formed a ring around the stone he was bound to, their heads down, voices thrumming in the cold, open air.

               The robed man lifted his fingers from the bowl.  They dripped with thick, red blood.  Dick yelled against the gag, stomach curling, legs kicking futilely against the people restraining him.  Reaching out, the robed man traced his fingers down Dick’s forehead, leaving a hot, sticky smear behind.

               The robed man stepped back, and the others holding Dick let him go, returning swiftly to their places in the circle.  Stooping at the feet of the others in the circle,  the robed man worked slowly around, painting a circle on the dry mud.  Dick watched, chest heaving on each breath, as the robed man finally completed the circle, and straightened, stepping into line with the others.

               The chanting grew louder, and now Dick recognized snatches of Latin—words he’d heard in church as a kid, when his parents used to drag him to Sunday mass.  Something about _guard us_ , or _protect us_ … the circle was meant to protect them?

               They were all outside it.  But Dick …

               He stretched, toes brushing the mud, heaving on the cords holding his wrists together over his head.  Snarling against the gag, he tipped his head back and strained, the stars blurring overhead.

               The stars went out.

               He dropped back against the stone with a thump, air huffing out his nose.  It was as if a dark cloud swept across the empty sky, snuffing out each winking light.  The moon faded, from white to gold to crimson.

               Dick choked on the smell of smoke, filling his nose suddenly, burning down his throat.  The air became suddenly blisteringly hot, as if he’d stepped outside on a blazing summer’s day.  Outside the circle, the black robes melted into an indistinct, blurred wall, their soft chanting becoming a whisper—indistinct as a breath of wind through leaves.  Dick’s heart pounded, a thick lump pulsing in his throat.

               A shadow crept across the ground.  It swallowed the mud and stones, tendrils creeping into the air.  Letting out a sharp cry against the gag, Dick pressed back into the rock, dragging his toes back to avoid its touch.  But the darkness stopped before it reached him—a black pit in the mud.

               And out of it rose a man.

               He was naked, his skin grey, his cock hard.  He lifted his chin, spreading his arms as though stretching after too long sitting down.  When he tilted his head, his spine crunched, each vertebra letting out a separate, sickening pop.  Then he let out a heavy sigh, lowered his head, and fixed his eyes on Dick.

               Or rather—his _eye_.

               Just one, slitted like a cat’s, cold and grey as ice.  The other was covered by a patch, white as his hair and beard.

               He rolled his shoulders, and out from his back spread two heavy, dark wings.  They fanned behind him like a cape as he grinned, all sharp, white teeth and black tongue.

               Not a man.

               A monster.

               A _demon_.

               Turning, the demon stalked across the ground towards the black robes.  The shadows withered beneath him, revealing the dirt once again.  At the edge of the circle, the demon stopped with a hiss, jerking back as though burned.  A long, forked tail swished at the back of his legs.

               ‘Why have you summoned me?’

               His voice was like being woken from comfortable sleep by an earthquake.  Like hearing everything you owned and loved crash down around you, destroyed forever.

               Amidst the chant outside the circle, one voice spoke clear, ‘A gift for our master.  A virgin sacrifice.’

               The demon turned back to Dick.  He eyed him consideringly; the sharp grin returned.  ‘And in repayment … ?’

               ‘The usual.’

               Dick had no idea what ‘the usual’ meant, but the way it was said turned his bones to liquid.  The demon’s stare felt like fire.

               The demon waved his hand.  His nails were pointed claws.  ‘It is done.’

               Then, with slow, prowling steps, he moved towards Dick.  ‘A little songbird for me to play with.’  He stepped close, his cock pressing against Dick’s thigh, and Dick shrank back with a whimper.  ‘Hello, little bird.  Do you sing?’  Raising his hand, the demon traced his clawed nails down the side of Dick’s face.  He brushed the tip of his nose against Dick’s, lips whispering over Dick’s gagged mouth.  ‘My name’s Slade.  Why don’t you tell me yours?’

               The demon curled his fingers under the band holding the gag in Dick’s mouth, and ripped it away.  Pinching the ball of material stuffed in Dick’s mouth, he drew it slowly out.

               Dick gasped his first clear breath in too long.  He twisted his face away from Slade’s, panting, arms shaking with the effort of trying to drag himself up—away—

               Slade ran his hand down Dick’s bare ribs, then curled his fingers and dug his nails in.  Dick cried out, slumping automatically.  And still, Slade didn’t loosen his hand, but buried his nails deeper, wriggling his fingers, pushing past the skin and into the flesh.

               ‘ _Name_ , little bird.’

               ‘Dick!’ he gasped.

               Slade drew his claws back, smiling a curved, wicked smile as Dick hissed.  ‘Good name.’

               Dick bit back an automatic _fuck you_.  ‘What do you want with me?’

               ‘I want to fuck you.’  Slade pressed his nose up under Dick’s jaw, drawing a deep breath, hands sliding softly up and down his ribs, fingers grazing over the sore punctures from his claws; Dick twitched.  ‘Over and over.  Then I’ll drag you to Hell and fuck you there.  I’ll keep you forever, my little pet bird.’

               Shuddering, Dick curled his lip.  ‘What the hell are you?’

               Something wet and warm traced his throat—Slade’s tongue.

               ‘Oh, Dick.  I’m your master.’

               Slade drove his hips forward, cock rubbing against the inside of Dick’s thigh.  He slipped his hands behind Dick’s back, then raked his nails from Dick’s shoulders to the waistband of his jeans.  Dick yelled, arching automatically away from the sharp pain.  Arching—into Slade’s body.  He shuddered, throat tightening, skin prickling.

               Curling his fingers into Dick’s jeans, Slade drew them down.  Dick tried to shrink away, but with the rock behind him and his arms stretched overhead, he had nowhere to go as Slade yanked the heavy material down to his ankles, then off over his feet.

               ‘I can fuck you hard, if you like pain.’  Slade knelt, leaned forward and sank his sharp teeth into Dick’s thigh.

               Dick screamed.  He tried to kick with his other leg—but Slade caught it easily, slamming it back against the stone.  Slade’s jaw tightened, teeth carving into the muscle.  Then he opened his mouth, and drew back.

               When he smiled up at Dick, his lips were scarlet.  ‘Do you like pain?’

               ‘No.’  Dick ground the word through gritted teeth.

               ‘So you want me to fuck you gently?’

               Dick winced, heat flooding his face.  ‘ _No._ ’

               ‘Hard, or gently?’  Slade ran his hands up Dick’s thighs.  ‘Pick one.’

               ‘No!’  Dick thrashed.  ‘No don’t—don’t _touch_ me!’

               Slade’s hands tightened on his thighs, grip achingly tight.  He tutted.  ‘That wasn’t an option, little bird.  Now I get to choose—’

               ‘Gently!’ Dick choked.  ‘Do it— _fuck_ —do it gently.’  He hesitated, trembles descending through his body.

               ‘Such a good little bird.’  Slade grinned, wide and sharp and evil.  ‘Don’t worry, Dick, I’ll be gentle for your first time.  I’ll make you love every second.  Make you moan my name.  Do you want to moan my name, Dick?’

               Dick hesitated just a moment too long—Slade dug his nails back into his skin, and Dick gasped, ‘Yes!  OK—whatever you want—yes.’

               Laughing, Slade leaned forward, peppering kisses up the inside of Dick’s thigh, towards his limp cock.  ‘I don’t believe you.  Yet.’  His black tongue slipped out from between his teeth—and kept slipping out, and slipping out.  It stretched a foot long, further, tracing up Dick’s leg, hot and damp.  Dick shuddered.

               Slade curled his tongue around Dick’s cock.

               Dick choked.  A low, warm laugh rumbled from Slade’s throat as his tongue coiled and twisted, wet and warm, slipping around and over Dick’s cock.  Gasping, Dick strained against his bound wrists.  His skin flushed.  Blood rushed south, heat building in reaction to Slade’s touch.

               He jerked, kicking his heels.  Dick’s throat tightened as he restrained a whine, his body reacting automatically.  He ground his teeth, heart racing.  As he grew harder, Slade let out a long, deep moan.  Then he leaned forward, and closed his lips around Dick’s cock.

               It felt like his bones melted.  Dick sagged against the stone, his breath coming in short, sharp pants.

               Slade’s too-long tongue swirled over his balls and Dick let out a whine, legs shaking.  His lips moved, agonizingly slow, the inside of his mouth hot and tight as he sucked.  Dick’s head spun.  Slade’s hands slipped up his thighs, his fingers digging into the muscles of Dick’s ass.

               Slade’s mouth opened wide, tongue thrashing, and he pressed forward.  Dick slipped into the tight heat of the back of his throat, and groaned.  Shivers cascaded down his body.  And Slade sucked and licked, head bobbing faster and faster.  Dick stretched up, hips arching forward, chasing the heat.  Slade kept going, and— _fuck_ —did he even need to breathe?  Slipping his hands further up Dick’s body, Slade curled his fingers and raked his claws down Dick’s ribs towards his hips.

               Dick shrieked.  It hurt—not like before, not as sharp, but burning, achingly good.  He twisted his wrists, rolling his hips up into Slade’s throat.  He was close.  He was _so close._

               Slade drew back.  His lips slipped off Dick’s cock with a filthy, wet pop.  Before Dick could draw breath, Slade gripped Dick’s hips, jerked him forward, and flipped him round.  Dick grunted as Slade slammed him up against the stone.

               And then hissed when Slade grasped the back of his thighs and shoved him up, like he weighed nothing, pulling his legs apart.

               His tongue grazed Dicks ass.  One long, slow lick, sending hot, shameful shudders through Dick’s body.  Then Dick tensed against a blunt, wet heat, before Slade’s tongue slipped inside him.

               Dick thrashed, yelling hoarsely into the stone.  Slade’s tongue pulsed, sliding in and out, pushing further every time, stretching, filling.  Dick’s face burned and his cock throbbed.  When he blinked, tears blurred his vision, then spilled over his lashes.  His stomach coiled with shame and disgust, but his cock ached to be touched.  Slade’s beard brushed his ass, scratchy-soft.  He needed— _needed_ —to finish.

               Slade withdrew his tongue, swirling one last time over Dick’s ass before he set Dick’s legs down and straightened.  His body crowded in against Dick’s back, skin flush against his.  He nipped at Dick’s ear, eliciting a shiver, and whispered, ‘Want me to fuck you here, against the rock?  Or let you down?’

               ‘Let me down,’ Dick gasped.  His arms ached.  His shoulders burned.  He almost didn’t care what happened next, if it meant getting free from this damn rock.

               ‘Good boy,’ Slade murmured.  ‘You learn fast.’

               He reached up, curled his fist around the cord, and snapped it effortlessly.

               Dick slumped.  He cried out, the muscles in his back and shoulders screaming as his arms dropped into his chest.  His legs buckled the instant his heels hit the ground, but Slade caught him and drew him back.  One step.  Two.  Then he crouched, drawing Dick down onto his knees.  Dick fell back against Slade’s chest, shaking, muscles spasming after what must’ve been hours dangling, even before he was conscious.

               Warm hands chafed his shoulders and back, and then Slade dug his fingers in, squeezing and pressing, drawing groans and cries from Dick as the pain tearing through his muscles eased.  Then Slade’s hands closed over his shoulder, pushing him forward.  Dick tumbled; caught himself with one hand in the dirt.

               ‘That’s right.’  Slade’s voice was low, terrible as the crack of breaking bones  ‘On your hands and knees for your master.’

               Dick took a breath—then let it out in a hiss when Slade’s too-long tongue swept over his ass again, creeping between his thighs to curl around his balls; to squeeze at his aching cock.  He whimpered, hitching close to climax once again before that tongue was retracted.  The ground rocked beneath him.  He felt drunk.

               And then Slade’s cock pressed against him, and _in_.

               Dick didn’t even try to restrain his whine at the stretching, filling sensation.  Larger than Slade’s tongue and not as wet, but somehow hotter.  Searing.  Burning.  But in a way that made Dick moan and arch, pushing his hips back until Slade came flush against him.  Slade gripped his hips, nails puncturing the skin so Dick whined again, and rolled his own hips slowly once, twice.  Then faster—sharp, staccato thrusts that made Dick’s breath huff and his legs shake, and sent little bursts of pleasure up into the base of his spine.  Slade drove harder and Dick cried out, trying to rock his hips in time, to follow to sparks that rocketed through his body, sending hot pulses into his cock.  This was _gentle_?

               He felt Slade’s angle shift, and next thing a clawed hand curled in the hair at the back of Dick’s head, and shoved down.  Arms collapsing, Dick’s shoulders hit the dirt and he yelped, but Slade heaved his hips up with his other hand, and kept fucking.

               And—fuck _—fuck—_

               It was deeper.  Sharper.  Each thrust sent the world spinning around him.  Dick moaned, face pressed into the ground, Slade tugging at his hair.  He dragged one hand backwards through the dirt; traced his palm down his stomach, fumbling, and curled his fingers around his own cock.

               ‘Yes,’ Slade growled.  ‘Touch yourself, Dick.  Touch yourself and come for your master.’

               Dick let out a strangled cry, back curling as he moved his fist, and Slade widened his stance and somehow fucked _upwards_ into him.  Tightness built in Dick’s stomach, his head spinning, his skin blazing hot, hotter still wherever Slade touched him.

               He came, mouth open but silent, every muscle in his body tensing at once.  His cock throbbed in his hand.  His mind went dark.  It felt like being thrown off a cliff.

               And then he was sinking, sinking sweetly down into the ground, his muscles lax as Slade continued to fuck him at furious speed, racing to a climax of his own.  His hips snapped forward, and suddenly he was somehow deeper than he was even before, and for a moment Dick had the bewildering, horrifying sensation that maybe his cock worked just like his tongue—maybe it could elongate, bury itself deeper—

               Slade snarled, his rhythm stuttering, and Dick moaned softly at the sensation of Slade coming inside him.

               He closed his eyes, face resting in the dirt as comfortably as if it were a down pillow.  Dick felt impossibly soft.  He still felt Slade inside him, no longer thrusting, but seeming to enjoy the sensation of simply _being_ there, filling him up, a little longer.

               Then—

               ‘Does he please you, Master?’

               Dick took a sharp breath.

               ‘Yes.’  Slade practically purred.  ‘You have done well.’

               Dick shifted, skin crawling.  _No, no, no, no._   How— _how_ had Slade made him forget the circle of black robes still watching them?  He tried to pull away, but Slade gripped Dick’s hips and dragged him close, nails digging into his skin.

               Heart pounding, throat closing in panic, Dick looked up, searching for escape.  Any escape.

               His eyes fixed on the red-brown circle of blood smeared in the dirt.

               The circle protecting them … protecting them from Slade.

               He reached out, digging his fingers in the dirt.

               Then he drew them backwards, raking them into the blood.  Tearing the line apart.

               Slade’s hands slipped off his body.  Dick yelped as he ripped away.

               Then he lay still, eyes closed, and listened with grim satisfaction to the screaming.


End file.
